


When I am King

by Sassgaardian (LokiOfSassgaard)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Forced Marriage, Plotbunnies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 12:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30055566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiOfSassgaard/pseuds/Sassgaardian
Summary: With Thor banished, Loki seeks to secure his place on the throne
Relationships: Loki/Sif (Marvel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very, extremely old plotbunny I'm uploading here so it can live with its friends. idk if I'll ever pick this one back up again, since I'm fairly certain I lost all of my plotting info for it.

It was little surprise to any of them when Heimdall summoned the group of warriors to his observatory. The price for treason against the throne was death, and it was Heimdall’s sworn duty to alert the king of any conspiracy against him. What was surprising was Heimdall leaving his sword in the Bifrost’s great pedestal, allowing their passage to Midgard. Finding Thor was but child’s play, and the news that Odin still lived was all Asgard’s crown prince needed to convince him to return home.

It seemed to everyone entirely too easy. Their only resistance was a small band of mortals who had assembled at the Bifrost site in the desert, and they were easily overcome. The threat of war for the detention of Asgardian royalty made the men in strange clothing back down almost at once. Thor swore to the mortal Jane Foster that he would return as soon as all was right on Asgard, and then he called down the Bifrost. Moments later, the brilliant light opened up from the heavens to take them back to Asgard. The trip through open space, past nebulae and stars and Yggdrasil’s very branches, was one they had all made countless times before. Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three made that trip together once more, but there was an empty space beside Thor where Loki once travelled along with them. Loki, who refused to end Thor’s banishment when the Allfather fell into the Odinsleep. Loki, who closed off the Bifrost, and after only a day on the throne ruled Asgard like a tyrant.

Loki, who stood in the Bifrost observatory with a legion of Einherjar behind him, awaiting their return.

“Seize them,” Loki commanded. He stood in place, immovable as a pillar of Uru metal, as the Einherjar rushed around him to seize the group of warriors.

“Except Thor,” he said coldly. The Einherjar guards grasping both his arms both paused to await Loki’s next command. Thor glared at him, trying to fight against the royal guards, but his mortal body lacked the strength. He could barely pull against their grip, and even as he threw all of his weight into it, the guards themselves barely moved with the effort to restrain him.

“As I said, it is not my place to undo the Allfather’s last command.” Loki looked to Sif as he spoke, a wicked, snake-like smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Thor was to be banished for his crimes, and banished he shall remain.”

“Loki—" Volstagg started, but the guard holding him cuffed him hard around the face.

Loki ignored it and drove Gungnir into the pedestal, activating the Bifrost again. His next command was barely more than a jerk of his head, but the guards obeyed it all the same. Thor fought against them with renewed vigour, but he was still no match for the Asgardian warriors. They picked him up from the floor so he could not drag his feet and hinder them, and with almost no effort at all, threw him into the Bifrost’s blinding light. He barely waited long enough for Thor to have landed safely before pulling Gungnir free with the sharp whine of metal against metal. Holding the spear off the ground, Loki walked in front of the line of Einherjar holding the warriors, letting his smile grow into something sinister.

“It’s been ages since the last execution for treason.” Loki stopped and turned his smile to Sif, looking her straight in the eye. “Tomorrow, we shall have five.”

“Then perhaps it should be six,” Sif hissed at him, her teeth bared as she leaned against the guard’s grip.

Loki's smile faded at once and he turned on his heel to march away from the Bifrost and down the bridge. “Take them to the dungeons to await sentencing. There shall be no trial,” he ordered as he left. Out on the bridge, one of the guards held his horse’s reins as he mounted.

“Guard the Bifrost,” he ordered the guard. “Ensure no-one enters. It is to remain closed.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guard said. He let go of Loki’s reins and turned back to the Bifrost to take his post, not looking back as Loki rode his horse at a run down the bridge.

Sif and the Warriors Three were not given mounts. They were marched on foot down the bridge, their arms held tightly by the guards. Einherjar guards always walked slightly too fast and held their charges slightly too high, so the person they escorted to the dungeons was half-dragged on their way. It was meant to be humiliating, but none of them hung their heads in shame as they were led down to the deepest part of the palace. Even as they stumbled over their own feet, Sif and her shield-brothers held their heads high, meeting the eyes of all they passed. When they reached the dungeons, they were stripped of their weapons and armour, and each thrown bodily into a separate cell. The cells were warded against magic of any sort, but one could see and hear through the barriers without issue. But attempting to pass through the barrier would sear flesh and bone alike. It was a place few ever saw, but as sworn warriors of Asgard, sent to fight battles for their king, the four of them had all been down to the dungeons before, escorting prisoners of their own. Now they were the prisoners, trapped by one they had all once called a friend.

“Oh, that’s where you went,” Volstagg said suddenly from his own cell.

Fandral and Sif moved as close to the barriers of their cells as they could, craning about to see what Volstagg was talking about.

“Find some of last night’s supper in your beard, Volstagg?” Fandral asked flatly.

Volstagg didn't respond, leaving them all in a heavy silence that seemed to suffocate everything.

“I can see many things, but I cannot see the future,” Heimdall said. “This, I did not see. And for that, I am deeply sorry.”

“Where is Thor?” Sif asked. She couldn’t see Heimdall from her own cell. Only Fandral and Volstagg in theirs across the wide corridor. They were both in similar postures to her, as close to the barriers as they could get without touching their flesh to it.

“Even my gaze cannot penetrate these walls,” Heimdall said after a long moment.

Even though Sif couldn’t see him, she could hear the mournful tone to his voice. She could imagine him in his own cell, dragged down to this level and defeated. Just the thought of it made her blood boil, and without thinking, she slammed her hand against the barrier. The entire wall, ordinarily invisible, shimmered with thick golden threads. She pulled her hand away quickly, looking at the burn pattern on her skin. It matched the pattern of the threads in the barrier, and gave her something to focus on. Something to keep her attention from wandering down even more dangerous paths.

“So. What now?” Fandral asked.

“We die,” Hogun said. He moved away from the barrier and sat down against the wall of his cell, looking entirely too calm for someone facing their death at the hands of a usurping king.

“Would some optimism kill you?” Fandral demanded.

Hogun didn’t answer. He just sat there, calmly looking at the corridor outside.

“No, we fight,” Sif said, glaring at Fandral and Volstagg. “We have until the morrow to fight our way out of here. Something will come to us. We cannot be the only ones still loyal to Odin.”

“Odin, who lies asleep in his bed, while Loki takes over the realm?” Fandral asked.

“Loki means to make an example of all of us. To show the realm what happens to those who disobey his command,” Heimdall said. He had never sounded so defeated as he did then.

Sif craned around again to try to see him. She could have punched him for giving up so easily. She would have punched him if she was in the same room as him.

“Well, while you accept your fates, I am going to find a way out of here,” she declared.

She intended to ignore anything else they said, but no-one said anything. Volstagg and Fandral both stepped back to sit down as well, waiting for dawn to break and bring with it their fate. With no words to ignore, Sif ignored their actions instead. She paced around the cell, trying to find any weak spot she could. She kicked the edges of the barrier, trying to find any gaps in it, but there were none. Even where there were no golden threads, the barrier was still solid. Nothing at all would pass through it, and soon her testing kicks became kicks of anger. The toes of her boots became scorched and singed, the scent of burning leather becoming almost cloying. Even then, she didn’t stop. Each time she failed to break the barrier only rose her anger and made her assault on it all the harder. It was only when she heard the door atop the short stairwell slam open that she stepped away to give the illusion of composure.

Loki walked up to her cell, trailed only by a single guard this time. He didn’t have Gungnir with him, but was armed instead with that smile of his.

“Lady Sif.” He looked her over slowly, putting on a show of looking concerned. “Is there a problem? Are the accommodations not to your liking?”

“I like it just fine,” Sif said, holding herself proudly.

Loki smiled insincerely and took a step closer. “I have been thinking, Sif. Asgard is already in a tumultuous state as it is. Thor banished; my father on the brink of death. I fear the deaths of the realm’s most beloved warriors might only serve to weaken the greater resolve, and plunge the people even further into despair.”

Sif snorted. “Since when have you ever cared about Asgard?” she asked.

Volstagg and Fandral were both watching curiously from their cells, though neither rose to stand. Cowards, the lot of them. In the corridor, Loki just kept on smiling that serpent’s smile of his.

“I care deeply for Asgard. Or else I would not be here now with the offer I intend to give you,” he said.

Sif grit her teeth. Loki was not her king, and she would not show him the respect of one. “I don’t want it,” she said.

Loki laughed, almost amused at her stubbornness. If not for the barrier, Sif would have throttled him right there. “I haven’t even offered it yet,” he said.

He waited quietly, hands clasped lazily behind his back. It was a play, and Sif knew it. But she also knew he wouldn’t go away until this conversation had played its way out. Sighing, Sif rolled her eyes.

“Fine. What’s the offer?” she asked.

Loki’s smile grew wider, entirely insincere. “Rule by my side, as my queen, and leave this place.”

Sif grit her teeth so hard, she thought they might crack. “Go to Hel,” she spat.

Loki chuckled at her, obviously having expected her response. “Then I suppose I shall see you there.”

As Loki turned to leave, Fandral got up to move next to the barrier of his cell again, staring at Sif incredulously. They all remained silent until the doors to the dungeon slammed shut once more.

“Sif, what are you doing?” he demanded. “Why—“

“I would rather die a martyr than stand by his side,” Sif said before Fandral could go any further.

“Well, good job. You’re going to,” Fandral said. “Congratulations.”

Sif slammed her hand against the barrier again, hissing as her already-abused flesh burned anew. “We would not have to if you four were not so ready to accept it!”

“And who’s going to save us?” Fandral demanded, waving his hand out to gesture to the empty air around him. “Do you expect Loki to have a miraculous change of heart? For us to escape in the night like a band of thieves? For Thor to return and put a permanent end to Loki’s madness? What, Sif? What is your plan?”

Sif glared at him, breathing heavily. Finally, she looked away, unable to meet his own glare any longer. “I don’t know,” she admitted. She looked up again, this time at Volstagg. “But I refuse to sit here and wait for the axe to fall. As long as there is breath in me, I will fight. And you should be ashamed for doing any differently.”

“Perhaps,” Fandral said, more subdued as he moved away from the barrier again. “But you had a way out. You should have taken it. At least it would have only been four deaths tomorrow, rather than five.”

“How dare you,” Sif spat, but Fandral ignored her. She slammed her fist against the barrier again, hitting the same burnt part of her hand against it. Each time she touched the barrier, the pain grew worse, and this time, she finally stepped away from it.

Fandral was wrong. But no amount of punching the barrier was going to help. She was going to think of a plan, and whatever plan she thought of would work. Sif moved to one of the back corners and sat against it so she could think in peace. All night, she ignored the others as she ran scenarios though her mind, taking care to be critical of every step she conceived. She tore holes in every plan she could imagine, immediately abandoning them as she found anything at fault. If she couldn’t even see certain victory with her plans, then Loki would surely make sure none of them survived the attempt.

By the time the doors to the dungeons opened again, Sif had run through hundreds of possibilities, and none of them were good enough. Each had some large fault that hinged entirely on luck, and it was already clear that luck was not on their side. Sif bit her lip to keep from crying out in frustration, and for the first time since they were dragged down to the dungeons, she felt that heavy weight of despair on her chest. She wouldn’t admit that Fandral was right, but he didn’t seem to be wrong, either.

Loki was with the guards again, this time leading ten of them behind him. He stood quietly as the guards opened Fandral’s cell, two of them going in to drag him to his feet. They were to be dragged out to the courtyard to their deaths, and Loki didn’t even have the decency to look even mildly interested.

Fandral tried to fight as he was chained at ankle and wrist, but the chains were of dwarven forging, growing heavier and heavier the more they were fought against. As Fandral fought, his thrashing became less and less until he could hardly lift his feet from the ground. There was no fighting this for any of them.

“Spare them,” Sif said so suddenly, she was surprised to have said the words at all.

Loki quirked a brow in her direction, not moving from where he oversaw Fandral being bound in chains.

“Why?” he asked passively.

“Spare them,” Sif repeated, almost on the point of begging. “And I will accept your offer.”

For a moment, even Loki looked surprised, but it quickly faded into a smug grin. He stepped closer to Sif’s cell, shaking his head slowly.

“You’re very loyal to them, Sif,” Loki said. He looked over to Hogun’s cell and frowned. “I would demand the same loyalty from you. Are you sure you can give it?”

She wasn’t. She didn’t think she’d be able to spend five minutes alone with him without slitting his throat with one of his own daggers. Loki smiled again, as if reading the very thought from her face.

“I don’t think you can,” he said. He started to walk away again as the guards moved on to Hogun’s cell.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I would swear it now, if you would swear to spare them in return.”

Loki turned again, but didn’t move back toward her. He studied her with narrowed eyes, taking his time to decide on his next move. Sif clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking, but the flick of Loki’s eyes told her he saw that as well. Finally, when Sif was certain he was going to oder Hogun in chains as well, Loki nodded. He looked over to the guards holding Fandral and pointed back toward his cell, and at once the guards removed the chains and shoved him back inside, closing the barrier behind him.

“Have her brought to my chambers,” he told the guards. “And have her searched. Thoroughly.”

He left the dungeons again without another word. As the guards came to Sif’s cell, she ignored the looks from Volstagg and Fandral, not able to meet either of them in the eye. She was glad she could not see her brother in the next cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	2. Chapter 2

Sif had never been in Loki’s rooms before. They were not exactly as she had expected, though in honesty, she hadn’t known what to expect. A dungeon, perhaps? Some cramped side-chamber off the library, stuffed high with dusty old books? He did have books, but they were all organised neatly on shelves that lined only one wall.

She had not been taken to Loki’s bedchamber, but to an open room with a large fire pit in the centre. The guards left her there alone, making any escape almost laughably simple. Loki didn’t live in some hidden, dark room somewhere, but in a section of the palace that looked out over the city. Sif could have easily jumped from the terrace and disappeared into the crowd far below before anyone even noticed her missing. Before she even stepped toward the terrace, Sif knew she’d never get so far as swinging her legs over the balustrade. Not for fear of getting caught, but because she knew what Loki would do to those she left in the dungeons if she did try to run. She made a sworn oath, and as long as Loki upheld his side of it, she was honour-bound to do the same.

As she watched the city below, Sif wondered if she had made the right choice. She wondered if there had been other options she hadn’t seen; other paths they could have taken to avoid this fate. Thor was once again banished, lost to realms unknown to anyone but Loki. The Warriors Three and Heimdall were locked in Asgard’s inescapable dungeons. And Sif had agreed to marry the monster who had orchestrated all of it. She had vague memories from long before, when she was a young girl years off from starting training as a warrior, of Odin falling into the Odinsleep. Nothing bad had happened then. No wars had been started. No-one banished. And Odin woke up and took the throne once again. This was something that had been expected to happen. Odin would return.

But now Loki held Gungnir, and few thought to question it. Had he simply taken it from his father’s sleeping hand, surely Frigga at least would have known that Loki’s claim was not a legitimate one. But if it was legitimate, if Frigga knew and accepted it, then the possibility of Odin never awakening again must have been real.

The possibility that Loki could have been right to imprison and intend their execution was one that Sif refused to acknowledge. Loki was a usurper, whether through bewitchment or cunning. And Odin would wake. Sif knew it. She would uphold her oath until the rightful king took his place on the throne, and then she would slit the traitor’s throat.

Sif heard the door open behind her, and turned to find a young maiden enter the room with a pitcher and a bowl in her hands.

“My lady,” the girl greeted, neither faltering in her voice or her step. She was accustomed to being around the royals, then. Possibly one of Loki’s own servants.

“I don’t need anything. Thank you,” Sif told her.

The maiden smiled tightly. “The king would have you bathe for this evening,” she said. She set the pitcher and bowl on a table and pulled several cloths and a pouch from her belt.

“For this evening?” asked Sif. Surely, Loki hadn’t intended to be wed so quickly?

The maiden’s smile didn’t wane. “Of course. Plans are already in motion, my lady.”

Of course they were. Sif couldn’t believe she’d thought otherwise. It was a power play, and Loki intended to have the upper hand. He didn’t mean for Sif to rule by his side at all, and she knew it. He meant to have her as a trophy. She realised he had anticipated her decision from the start, and had likely made his arrangements the night previous.

Sif had agreed to marry him. She had not agreed to anything else.

Knowing it was best not to fight it, Sif stepped away from the terrace and sat down by the fire pit to be bathed and dressed, as if she could not do such things for herself.

“What is your name?” Sif asked as she pulled her hair loose on her own.

“Astrid, my lady,” the maiden answered.

She paused briefly before taking Sif’s hand in hers, frowning at the burns from the dungeon’s barrier. Sif hardly felt the injury.

“Are you treated well here, Astrid?” she asked.

Astrid paused, just small enough for Sif to know that a lie was coming. “Of course, my lady. I’m very happy.”

Sif doubted that very much, but she smiled all the same. “Good,” she said. She thought perhaps she might be able to make an ally of Astrid, in time. Loki would have to honour her right to appoint handmaidens. She could appoint whoever she wanted, and Loki could do nothing about it.

She said nothing further as Astrid fussed about her, not quite willing to let her bathe herself, and being very good at not taking no for an answer. Eventually, Sif gave in and sat still while her hair was washed and her burns were tended. Astrid was quick about it, obviously practised at her job, and she soon left Sif with an embroidered shift and nothing more. No sooner had Sif dressed, an older woman was admitted with a large basket in her hands. It was piled high with fabrics, and already, Sif knew what she was in for.

“Here to help me find a gown for this evening, I presume?” she asked.

She got a smile in return. “Of course, my lady.”

Sif thought she might very quickly get very tired of being addressed as such. She forced herself to smile, though nothing of it felt honest.

“Well, let's not waste any time,” she said. She didn’t even try to sound eager, because she knew exactly what was coming.

The woman put her basket down and started pick through what she’d brought with it. It was full of fabrics in greens and golds, which somehow did not surprise Sif in the least.

“I like red,” Sif told her.

“The king would have you in his colours,” the woman told her.

Somehow, this was not surprising. Sif tried not to grit her teeth as she was presented with a bolt of fabric that shimmered like molten gold. She didn’t even say anything, already resigned to how her day was going to go. She had agreed to marry Loki, and unfortunately, this was part of the deal. Certain roles and traditions were to be followed, and Sif was prepared to play hers. The indignity of being stabbed with pins and being dressed in a dozen half-finished gowns was little price to pay for her friends’ lives.

It was past the high day mark when Sif was finally left to herself, with the weight of what was to come growing heavier with each passing moment. She knew she had done the right thing, but that did not make it easy to do. Not when she knew what was waiting for her. She stood out on the terrace again, finding the city below a different picture than it had been in the morning. The square below was full of people already, milling about to get as close to the palace as the guards would let them. Banners of green and gold, with braided serpents were hung from every post and archway in view. Sif wondered if Loki’s serpent seal was a deliberate choice, or an unfortunate one.

She didn’t even hear the door opening again, and it wasn’t until Loki made himself known by coughing that Sif knew he was there. She turned sharply, finding him standing smugly, holding a small basket of his own.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Loki raised his eyebrows dramatically. “These are my chambers. In my palace, no less. I can be wherever I wish,” he said.

He stepped closer and offered her the basket, holding it delicately in his fingers. Sif held her place, leaning forward just far enough to peer into the basket. When she saw the sleeping kitten inside, she glared up at Loki.

“What is that?” she asked.

“I would have thought it should be obvious,” Loki said.

And it was. Sif knew exactly what Loki meant by giving her the kitten. A traditional gift, but in this case, also a very strong message that she was to know her place. Not as a queen or a warrior, but as little more than a concubine, kept barefoot in the summer and pregnant in the winter.

“I don’t need one,” she said.

Loki smiled almost wolfishly at her. “But it’s tradition,” he said. “You would deprive Asgard of what it so dearly needs most right now?”

Sif glowered at him, wanting to punch his smugness right off his face. Instead, she held her chin high in defiance.

“Traditionally, I should be receiving your gifts after you’ve paid the bride-price and I’ve received my dowry,” she told him.

Loki’s smile turned quickly to a sour frown. There was no kindness between him and Tyr, and Sif knew it. Tyr was the captain of Odin’s guard, and while he swore his oath of loyalty to the crown itself, his family had already shown themselves to not uphold that oath to any else who wore it.

“Indeed,” Loki said. He took back his offer of the basket and the kitten it contained, glaring daggers at her. “I guess in all the excitement, it must have slipped my mind.”

Sif smiled smugly at him as he turned and left again. She did not want his gifts or his bride price, and she knew her father would not pay the dowry. And for a moment, she was pleased to think it, until she thought to wonder what Loki would do in return. She suddenly regretted saying anything at all, but Loki had already gone. Sif thought she might be able to follow after him, but as soon as she opened the door, she found it blocked by the guards who led her up to Loki’s chambers.

“The king requests you stay here,” one of them said.

Sif glared at him.

“We have been given orders to detain you should you try to leave,” the guard said.

Sif shut the door on his face. She had agreed to this deal to save her friends and her brother, and now she may have condemned her father instead. Under any other circumstance, she would know what to do without even having to think about it. But she had never before had to weigh her actions against the lives of so many others. Not like this, when those lives were unable to defend themselves. She had always made her decisions knowing those who did depend on her were also able to depend on themselves and the swords in their hands.

Sif had never known such helplessness before, and it came pouring out of her in a great scream. She raged, knocking over anything she could get her hands on. She threw a chair across the room and managed to knock over the table before the guards burst in, spears in hand.

“Leave me!” Sif shouted at them before they could get close.

They both stopped and shared uncertain glances between one another, neither quite certain what to do.

“I said leave me!” Sif demanded.

Finally, the guards retreated, never turning their backs to her until the doors were shut. Sif turned away from the doors and stormed through the room, not even noticing that she’d torn her shift along the seam. And if she had noticed, she would not have cared. The interruption from the guards had quelled her urge for destruction, but not her rage. It was now a quiet, seething thing, all hatred and ire. She hated Loki for banishing Thor and for imprisoning those who were supposed to be his friends. She hated herself for accepting his terms and not having a better solution. And she hated Asgard for celebrating this marriage, when it ought to have been revolting against a usurper.

The door opened again, and Sif turned to shout at the guards to leave, but found Astrid instead, stopped just inside the room and looking at the mess on the floor.

“Is everything well, my lady?” she asked.

Sif inhaled deeply, hoping to seem more calm than she felt. “Yes. Of course.”

Astrid clearly saw through the lie, but she smiled all the same. “It’s time to be getting ready.” She stepped over the mess, bringing a freshly-sewn gown and a handful of combs and hair-pins with her. She stopped at one of the seats by the fire, laying everything out so it would be ready when Sif was. Astrid waited patiently while Sif paced around, trying to calm herself.

“My lady, you’ve torn your shift,” Astrid said.

Sif looked down at the tear that ran up her leg, clear to her hip. “So I have,” she said. She thought she ought to have felt remorse over that, but she didn’t feel anything at all. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, her shift at all. Just something she had been given to wear until she was forced into something wholly uncomfortable. Her eyes fell on the offending garment, made of that molten-gold fabric. She could see a pair of vambraces and an ornate breastplate beneath the gown, and she knew that there had not been enough time for those to have been custom-forged for her. She hadn’t even been measured for them.

Sighing heavily, Sif started pulling off her shift. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered.

She tried to save some dignity and wear the gown and breastplate as they were intended, but the breastplate had obviously been forged by someone who had never seen a woman. Almost as soon as Astrid secured the buckles at Sif’s back, it became unbearable. Sif knew how armour should fit, and it was most definitely not like this.

“Must I wear this thing?” she asked, trying to arch her back so the breastplate didn’t dig into her flesh so badly. But no matter how she twisted or bent, it still pinched against her somewhere.

“It’s tradition, my lady. The king insists,” Astrid said. She unbuckled the breastplate anyway and picked up a long strip of linen.

“Damn tradition,” Sif said. She picked up the breastplate and threw it into the fire pit before it could cause anyone permanent damage. “If I am to bind myself to fit into something, then it was never meant to be fit into in the first place.”

Astrid watched nervously as the breastplate darkened in the low flames. “Yes, my lady,” she said.

Sif sat down and pushed her hair over her shoulders so Astrid could comb and style it. It took a few moments for Astrid to settle behind her and start combing through Sif’s hair.

“I’m just not sure he’ll be too happy about that,” she said. “I mean—“

“Good,” Sif said. “I’m not here to make him happy.”

Astrid laughed nervously. “Yes, my lady.”

She wove two small braids back from Sif’s temples, and then braided them both together, before weaving it all into a larger braid and tying everything up into a tight bun. As she finished pinning everything together, the chamber doors opened again and Loki walked in, trailed by his personal guard.

“Lady Sif,” he greeted smoothly. Sif did not turn to look at him.

“What is it now?” she asked.

She wasn’t looking at him, but somehow she could just tell Loki was smiling that serpent’s smile of his.

“I am afraid your father is unable to be here today,” Loki said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “And I cannot say when he will return.”

Sif’s entire body stiffened. “I see. Well, so much for your traditional wedding, then.”

Loki paused, and Sif could hear him moving around behind her. Strutting like the over-stuffed peacock he was, no doubt. “While his departure was sudden, he did leave you with a handsome dowry. It has been sent to your rooms, which are still being readied for you. You will see them tonight.”

Sif said nothing to him. She had nothing to say that wouldn’t make him think twice about this deal of theirs. She knew Tyr would not have left so suddenly of his own accord, and could only imagine what Loki had done with him.

“Well. I shall leave you to finish getting ready. I’ll have someone sent to escort you to the throne room,” Loki said.

“I know where it is. I can find it myself,” Sif said bitterly.

“Oh, that I don’t doubt. But we can’t have Asgard’s future queen wandering without an escort. It would be unseemly.” Loki turned and walked out of the room, leaving the women in silence.

“Astrid, are you done?” Sif asked after a few long moments.

Astrid looked back down at her and nodded. “Uhm. Yes, my lady.”

“I think you should go,” Sif told her. She kept her voice calm and steady, betraying no emotion in her words.

“Yes, my lady.” Astrid gathered the vambraces and the cloak that had been intended to be worn with Sif’s gown and made her quick exit from the room without another word.

With nothing but the sound from the fire to fill the room, there was nothing else to fill Sif’s thoughts. Her father had not been part of the bargain struck with Loki. Considering all else Loki had done over the last few days, Sif knew he would not think twice about killing Tyr for refusing to have part in this marriage. And Sif had not thought to consider the possibility that Loki would honour his oath while still finding other pawns to use in whatever game he played. And that he had used her father only showed the depths to which he was capable of sinking. Sif could not marry the man, and yet, she knew she had to. She would not risk her friends any further than had already been done.

She had slain dragons bigger than Loki. And dragons had sharp teeth and breathed fire. She would be a coward to back out now. With a steeling breath, Sif rose to her feet and walked to the door. Outside it, she found the guards, along with her escort. Baldur had long been a friend of hers, and seeing him look just as angry as she felt somehow made her feel vindicated.

“Shall we?” he asked dryly.

Sif smiled falsely. “Let’s.”

He didn’t offer his arm, and she didn’t take it. They walked down the corridor together, side-by-side as equals, as they’d done in the past, before Baldur’s duties sent him on a different path than the one Sif and Thor had taken.

“Why has no-one risen against him yet? He had no right to claim the throne.” Sif kept her voice quiet, lest anyone overhear them. "It should be yours."

Baldur looked over at her, alarmed. “He has every right," he said, entirely too convinced. "And it was a fool move for you, or your friends, or your father to challenge him. Your father was even there when Loki was presented with Gungnir. He said Mother herself was witness to it, and encouraged him.”

Sif couldn’t stop herself from gaping. “If Loki was truly crowned king, what hope is there for Odin?” What hope was there for anyone?

Baldur looked away from her. He took a moment before speaking, and when he did, he spoke more to the floor than he did to Sif. “None, I'm afraid.”

Words rarely failed Sif, but at this news, she truly had no idea what to say. Loki himself had said that they feared Odin may never awaken, but to hear the same words from Baldur finally made them true. Sif felt almost stunned as they entered the antechamber to the throne room, met by servants who were rushing to complete everything at the last minute.

“Sif,” Baldur said. He paused again, struggling to find his next words. “If. If you need anything. Ever. You know where I am. My door is always open.”

Sif nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Baldur.”

She watched him leave the room, feeling utterly alone despite the crowd around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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